


as a dog

by suddenlyatiger



Series: not one for long goodbyes [4]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Derek Hale Takes Care of Stiles Stilinski, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, POV Stiles, Sharing a Bed, Sheriff Stilinski's Name is John, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-22
Updated: 2016-12-22
Packaged: 2018-09-11 06:15:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8961820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suddenlyatiger/pseuds/suddenlyatiger
Summary: “I can’t believe that this is how I go out,” Stiles moan-croaks, speech even further garbled by his stuffed nose.“Stop being dramatic,” John says. “You just barely have a fever. It’s just a cold.”





	

Stiles loses his appetite Wednesday afternoon. By Wednesday evening his eyes start burning and his throat feels a bit scratchy. He’s in bed asleep by the time it gets late enough to be considered night.

 

He wakes up Thursday morning with a pounding headache and unable to breathe through his nose. His throat feels like it’s on fire and he worries briefly that he’s actually dying.

 

He shares his worries with his father when the man wanders into the room to investigate the choking and hacking noises.

 

“You’re not dying,” John says, pressing a hand to Stiles’ forehead.

 

“I can’t believe that this is how I go out,” Stiles moan-croaks, speech even further garbled by his stuffed nose.

 

“Stop being dramatic,” John says. “You just barely have a fever. It’s just a cold.”

 

“Ugh,” Stiles groans.

 

“I’ll get you some Tylenol and then you can go back to sleep,” John says. “Do you want to try eating anything?” Stiles briefly considers this. His gut makes a noise that tells him that eating would be a bad idea.

 

“Better not,” he says. John nods and leaves the room. Stiles flops over onto his front and snags a Kleenex from the box he keeps on his nightstand (there for this exact purpose if anyone asks) (he’s fooling exactly no one). He blows his nose, which produces nothing but a strangled honking noise and sore sinuses. John comes back in to find Stiles glaring at the tissue wadded in his hand. He looks up.

 

“The mucus is trapped in my nose,” he announces.

 

“I can tell,” John says. He hands Stiles two pills and a glass of water. The pills hurt going down. The _water_ hurts going down. Life is unfair.

 

“My body has betrayed me,” Stiles moans.

 

“You’ll be fine,” John says, ruffling Stiles’ sweaty hair as he takes the glass from him. “Go back to sleep. Call me at work if you need to. I’ll call the school and let them know you won’t be in.”

 

“I’ll just be here. Dying,” Stiles says. John just rolls his eyes and pats Stiles’ hip before he leaves the room. Stiles snuggles down into his pillow and hopes that sleeping with his mouth open won’t make him drool everywhere.

 

-[-----]-

 

Stiles is hot and sweaty when he wakes up late in the morning. At first he thinks that’s what woke him, but then he registers his window opening. He watches the window in a daze and grins goofily when Derek climbs through.

 

“Derek!” he exclaims delightedly. Then he sneezes. Several times in a row. Snot and spit go everywhere. “Ew. And ow.”

 

“Scott texted me. Said you weren’t answering your phone,” Derek says. He hands Stiles a wad of tissues. Stiles shoves them at his face.

 

“I’m dying,” he says, honking into the tissues. Derek rolls his eyes and sits down next to him on the bed. Stiles grins and leans into his side.

 

“You have a cold,” Derek says. Stiles pulls the tissues away to properly glare at his boyfriend. There’s a string of mucus connecting Stiles’ nose to the tissues. Derek scrunches his face up.

 

“Dying,” Stiles insists. “It’s awful!” He sneezes again. Derek hands him more tissues. “Ugh!” Derek rolls his eyes.

 

“You took medicine, right?” he asks. Stiles honks into his tissues again, sending a few of them spilling out of his hands and into his lap.

 

“Earlier,” Stiles says. “Before my dad left for work.” It’s hard work staying upright and socializing. Derek is warm and solid against him and he finds himself cuddling in closer. Derek wraps an arm around him and starts running his fingers through Stiles’ hair. Stiles hums and lets his eyes flutter shut.

 

“You’re all sweaty,” Derek says softly.

 

“Rude,” Stiles mumbles. He _does_ feel a bit uncomfortable, now that Derek’s brought attention to the sweat making his skin clammy, but he’d rather stay where he is than get up to deal with it. He’s starting to doze a bit when he’s jostled awake by Derek sliding off the bed.

 

“Noooo…” Stiles whines. Derek eases him gently down on the mattress, dodging Stiles’ grabby-hands.

 

“Stay here, I’m going to get something to wipe you down with,” Derek says. Stiles pouts as he watches Derek leave the room. He hears water running in the bathroom and looks down at himself. He does feel pretty gross; the collar of his shirt is cold and damp. He frowns.

 

Stiles doesn’t see Derek walk back into the room because his head is stuck in his shirt. It turns out that it’s fairly difficult to remove a shirt while lying on it. Stiles stops struggling when he feels Derek’s presence, silent and judging, next to the bed. He lets himself go lax, head still stuck in his shirt and arms caught above his head.

 

“I can’t get out,” he declares miserably.

 

“You’re ridiculous,” Derek says. He sounds fond.

 

“Help?” Stiles asks. He starts a bit at the warm arm that suddenly snakes under his back. The same arm flexes and Stiles’ top half is being slowly lifted from the bed. He would find it hot any other day. Today he feels too miserable to be drooling over his boyfriend’s strength. No matter how sexy it, and he, is.

 

Derek keeps Stiles mostly upright with a large, warm hand splayed on his upper back. His free hand is used to tug Stiles’ shirt completely off. Derek is frowning in concentration when Stiles gets free of the shirt (which is then dropped carelessly on the floor). Stiles smiles dopily at him and Derek’s expression softens.

 

“Hi,” Stiles mumbles. He’s feeling tired. Also cold. He shivers.

 

“Sorry,” Derek says. “I’ll get you a new shirt in a second.” He lowers Stiles back down to the bed and turns to something on the nightstand. Stiles mourns the loss of Derek’s warmth, but Derek turns back quick enough. He also sits down on the edge of the bed. Stiles scoots in closer, until his arm is pressed against Derek’s thigh.

 

“This might be a bit cold,” Derek warns. He has a damp cloth in his hand. And it definitely is cold when it’s first pressed to Stiles’ chest. Stiles hisses at the feeling. He doesn’t enjoy the cold, but he does start to feel a little better as Derek carefully wipes down his chest, back, and neck with the cloth. Once he’s clean and dried and wearing a fresh shirt he feels a bit more human. Definitely less sweaty. And more tired.

 

He has a hard time keeping his eyes open while Derek leaves the room to dispose of the wet cloth and used shirt. He’s half-dozing when Derek walks back in.

 

“Do you want something to eat?” Derek asks, sitting back down on the edge of the bed. Stiles shakes his head. He isn’t hungry, and his throat still feels as if trying to force food down it would hurt too much to be worth it.

 

“’M tired,” he mumbles. He focuses on Derek’s face, Derek is smiling fondly at him.

 

“I can see that,” Derek says. “I’ll leave you nap. I’ll text you later.” He moves to get up but Stiles quickly grabs onto one of his sleeves. Derek pauses, shooting Stiles a confused look.

 

“Stay,” Stiles says. “I mean, if you want to. You don’t have to.” He starts mumbling awkwardly and interrupts himself with a loud sneeze that makes his head throb.

 

“Ugh,” he grunts. “Never mind. You should go. You don’t want to see this.”

 

“Here,” Derek says. He shoves a wad of tissues in Stiles’ hand and then turns around to face the room. “Do you have any sweatpants I can borrow?”

 

“Bottom dresser drawer,” Stiles says. He clumsily blows his nose, most of his focus taken by Derek apparently getting ready to join him in bed.

 

Stiles pinches himself to make sure he hasn’t actually fallen asleep and is now dreaming this.

 

“Ow,” he hisses. Definitely not dreaming then.

 

“What are you doing?” Derek asks.

 

“Science,” Stiles says. He sneezes and busies himself with wiping his nose while Derek climbs over him. Stiles only gets a quick glimpse of Derek in a pair of soft grey sweatpants before Derek slides under the covers.

 

After that it’s a bit awkward; they’ve never actually shared a bed before. Derek is on his side, facing Stiles. Stiles is lying on his back, a tissue shoved up on nostril and breathing through his mouth.

 

“This always looks a lot easier in the movies,” Stiles comments. Derek rolls his eyes and slings an arm around Stiles’ waist. Stiles freezes, Derek freezes.

 

“No good?” Derek asks.

 

“Whenever I imagined this happening I was more suave,” Stiles says. He coughs and it makes his head ache. “And less dying.” He looks up at Derek, who is arching an eyebrow at him, but also blushing faintly. He relaxes though, and starts to tuck Stiles more comfortably against him. Stiles is instantly on board with this and proceeds to smoosh his face against Derek’s collarbone.

 

“I apologize in advance for the snot,” Stiles mumbles. Derek is radiating warmth and Stiles is so comfortable that he’s starting to realize how tired he is. It’s getting harder to keep his eyes open. He’s fading fast.

 

“I’ll make sure you don’t drown in it,” Derek says. His voice has a dream-like quality to it. Stiles slurs something in response, though he’s not sure if he used any actual words. He feels Derek’s chest vibrate with what must be a laugh, and then he’s completely asleep.


End file.
